


Dagonteeth

by dem horns (FingerstheZombie)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gorn, Guro, Non Consensual, Other, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:51:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingerstheZombie/pseuds/dem%20horns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Redglare/Karkat<br/>Gorn and rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dagonteeth

There’s nothing more terrifying than her, in all the dreams he’s found himself drifting into he’s never seen anything more terrifying. His heart’s a slow thud in his chest like a stray lusus sniffing around lawnrings in a rage after its wiggler’s been found half eaten and left out on someone’s porch. Karkat had known that troll, a neighbor and he doesn’t want to think of the stinking rot of the troll; almost the same age as the mutant blood but a far less lucky olive blood with crooked teeth who’d ping him a hundred times in a row before finally leaving Karkat alone.

The tightening in his chest had come unbidden, as had the sting of dry air against his eyes and he knows he’s going to have to blink soon but the room keeps undulating in waves of claustrophobia and he wants to forget the sick, heavy stink of rotten flesh and flies buzzing around a wiggler’s corpse, having been tossed down from his hive’s top window by an ex matesprite. The dust on the floor in front of him makes him want to weep and he can’t see very well, where there is no light there is nothing to see but he knows she’s going to find him, that she’s slinking around in this lightless dream.

He nearly retches when she finally does reach him. She’s sky high and he feels dizzy from trying to find where up is after the first blow and all he can do is cover his face. Each swing of the cane sends a deep, burning pain into his skull and he can feel the muscle turn bad and he knows there will be bruises, deep dark gray on his face but his nose is bleeding out red and his ear and cheek are hot with tears, jagged and drug up into his hairline. There’s no sense of space, he feels suffocated by her and that’s just her hand on his head and she’s just so much bigger and he can only imagine sharp teeth and claws raking at him.

Swiftly he’s being dragged up by his hair and she’s got at least a foot of height on him, her hands are long and thin, topped off by inch long claws that are sinking into his scalp and sending rivulets of blood down onto her hand. The young troll is only distantly aware of her deep breathing and he isn’t aware of the fact that she’s blind, blind as all hell and when she does lean down it’s with hollow eye sockets and a missing nose and that she’s half set with her skull caved in deep. He can smell her blood, had it in his nose and that’s how he knew, knew to hide like a little squeakbeast trying and hoping and maybe the purrbeast would forget and leave him be but. That simply did not happen. She licks from one corner of his mouth to the other and his lips are split in at least ten places and the swipes make him sting bad before there’s more jittering spikes of pain from her sucking out blood from them. His entire mouth feels sore after she’s bit around his lips a few times, leaving rings around the outside of his mouth like a freshly bruised fruit and she’s nibbling and biting a tight searing trail of bites up to his cheek before she’s licking over one eye slowly.

Karkat’s blocked out everything she’s said, he’d been willing to hear at first but her muddled curses and the haunting grate of bone and the sour smell of rot had tipped him over into a blind panic. She nips tenderly at one eyelid and he can feel her teeth catch at his skin and tear it and he’s finally started to cry translucent red tears because her very shape reminds him of Terezi and that’s one of the most terrifying things about this. The woman’s rail thin, he can feel every rib on her but maybe that’s because her muscle is so very sparse but hard like stone and perhaps that’s from her second pupation and it hardly matters because she’s clutching him close and her prying at his eyelid grows worse. She’s teetering on something and he can sense a change in the dream that sends little echos down his horns.

Redglare’s setting him down on the ground and he’s still twisting and fighting at her grip from the hips down. A low his comes from her mouth and makes his eye sting before her claws are raking down his scalp and ripping deep scratches into it that expose muscle and fat and veins to thin, cold air and her teeth are in his face, into his brow and forehead and he’s pressing up against her chest with his hands and trying to tear but she’s got one hand on his shoulder keeping him down firm and hard and he realizes with a sick pooling feeling that she’s in between his legs and he starts to fight harder. But his claws can’t make it through whatever material makes up her shirt and he can faintly feel her hair across the back of his hand but that’s just a split second before she’s clutching at his throat hard enough to sever off his air supply and if he’d been older there would have been a breaking of a little bone in there but instead it’ll bruise if he lives through this.

Her claws easily rake through his sweater and down in a searing series of lines that split him open to the bone across his ribcage and she stops to finger down along the edge of his sternum before she’s pressing up and digging open a little hole in his skin. There’s a lot of skin and muscle that comes of the movement before she hits the cartilaginous tip of the protrusion and she starts to twist and prod her finger into the new hole before she drags open the rest of his sweater, leaving strips of it on his belly but overall achieving the goal of opening his shirt in a cross section. She swipes away the material and his eyes feel like they might pop out of his head some time soon, he can feel everything going away, like he’s standing and things are leaving him.

Once his movements have quieted his throat becomes free by some minor miracle that he’s altogether unaware of that fact for too long. While he was trying to find the floor with one of his hands she’d been picking out little holes in his arm and he lets out a groan and tries to bat her away because he’s bleeding pretty badly from his head, pool of bright red blood wetting his head and slipping and making one eye sting he tries to get it out and push her away at the same time, sobs raking through his body and making him shudder and he begs and pleads for her to just stop. There’s a bright jaunty smile on her face that he can’t see, her sharp words are deep racks into his pan and she threads a hand through his hair and laps up the blood on his lips, reopens the soft little scabs made from clotting blood and she wants him to bleed out sweet for her. Or so that’s what he thinks when he finally has enough wits to try and get her hand off of his side but she’s steely and keeps seeping it down lower, long welts left by her claws but they don’t bleed won’t bleed.

She’s speaking soft words and he doesn’t believe want to believe what she’s saying and he doesn’t want to say anything to her anymore. Her voice is so wretched and he knows that he isn’t going to live, shouldn’t be alive anymore because of what he’s done; she’s a good and proper troll now isn’t she. He’s not even nine sweeps and still a soft green whelp to the world; so when she starts to bite at his lips he can only feel the deep tar-bubble of hate sticky and unclean in his belly with indignation. The mutant blood finds that her face isn’t as well armored as the rest of her body- but he’s clawing at darkness more than at her and the open wound he meets along her face makes him shudder in sock and disgust. She rolls her tongue out and catches at his hand with her mouth, her teeth are sharp and they shred into his skin like a fresh newly hatched grub’s casing gives under pressure. His body’s ready to give and his spine aches from trying to sit up against the force on his shoulder and hip. That hand keeps dripping lower than before and soon it’s at his groin and her smile only gets wider, her thumbclaw is dangerously long and it shears through the fabric too slowly.

Claws scrabble and scrape at her hand but he’s tearing up and he wants to get his hand out of the furbeast trap he’s gotten it stuck in but every little tug makes her teeth pull and cut deeper and it leaves him a shivering mess that he can’t shake. His breath catches and he nervously tries to pull her hand off of his thigh but she’s not moving and he’s shaking his head at her and he can’t even speak anymore it’s just a sobbing mess that dissolves into him crying for his lusus. The adult troll is slower than erosion, her thumb ruts up against the outside of his jeans and he can feel the pressure spread against the outside of his nook and he wants to vomit in his mouth and rip out his eyes and ears and heart and not be here, not feel her sinking it in and it’s dry and he doesn’t want this one bit, not a single atom calls for her and he gives a heave to her hand that makes her squeeze down on his hand hard enough to make something give with a faint slick pop. He’s screaming, once, twice, three long draws before he realizes that she’s split the material of his jeans and boxers and that’s her claw up against the faintly moist flesh, smooth and unbroken.

Her tongue’s prying and poking at the feverish flesh that’s starting to bruise and rise from the bites she’s delivered, and he wants to punch her and kill her and rip out her teeth, every single last one of them out of her skull. Sadly he can’t stop her, can’t even keep her from pressing her thumb up and into his nook and his stomach flexes and then squeezes and he’s trying to keep her out of him to no avail. There’s blood pooling on his chest and there’s a long oozing line down one side from where she’d nearly pierced through his sternum, his hand aches and part of it is nothing but mincemeat from her adjusting her hold on him. There’s five sharp points on one shoulder and she keep pressing in but there’s nothing but bleak and faint wetness that he wishes isn’t there and it stings going into his nook- too dry and there’s a mumble against his hand before she’s letting go of his shoulder. A very long, drawn out moment of confusion ensues in the dark. He’s still held in her mouth, there’s still a good hold on his inner thigh and he’s almost ready to try scooting away if she should let go but then she’s back and very, very close.

No mention had come to him of the change but there’s certainly a difference in this approach, especially as she’s pressing into his pulling and his hand comes up too fast and then she’s let go of his hand, it’s bleeding long red stripes down to his elbow and onto the floor, he can feel the blood dribbling in annoying line and he’s trying to focus on that instead of the ache that’s pulsing around his ruined hand. She’s got a hold on both wrists before too long and the tealblood even lets him press up and fight against the slow push downwards. Their hips don’t have to meet for him to know what’s coming next and he can’t do anything but growl and curse and try to crawl away despite the awkward angle it puts him at and the way it makes the ground scrape against his hurt hand and he tips off and into a long whine that turns ragged as he feels her bulge slip against him, wet and slick. Not too eager but she’s pressing it up into his nook shallowly.

Spines, she has spines, fleshy long ones along the dorsum of her single, long tendril. He can’t see how the tip is particularly thin, or how wide it gets and there’s several new ‘spines’ along the side the last few inches down to the base of her bulge. There’s a sick twisty feeling as she slithers along the first few inches, coiling up against the walls and then adding length slowly to stretch him out. He hasn’t stopped crying, so when she leans down and licks at his face she gets a mixture of sweet cherries and little flecks of watery fruit juice on her tongue. He can’t imagine what’s rattling around in that pan of hers but he’s trying to desperately find something to focus on other than the slow coil she’s broaching up into his virgin nook; he keeps twitching and he doesn’t want to react at all but there’ s a slow increase in the wetness as the coil gets thicker and then she’s finally stretching it out and into him, broaching into the far end of his short nook and then rolling back and over itself.

There’s a violent moment in which he finds himself trying to simultaneously throw her off and curl in on himself but it does nothing other than make him cramp and his wounds scream out as her hand slips up and squeezes tightly at his chewed up fingers, it makes the heat press into a pounding pressure that forces blood into his eyes and he’s crying steadily from the wounds on his scalp. Everything aches but nothing feels worse than the soft, insistent press of her bulge slipping in and he already feels full. The mutant blooded troll has no idea that this isn’t even half and she knows not to push the issue, especially concerning his immaturity, barely splashing around in the status of juvenile. Then she starts to draw out and in, coiling up into a solid mass and then rutting her hips up, bulge jabs in and he can feel cool teal against his ass and that isn’t a thing that should make him want to whimper and gag.

Instead he nearly hurks in his mouth from the jostling of his wounds, he faintly registers her leaning down. Slight change in pressure, her breath across his face wakes up the oozing puncture wounds near his eye and the blood makes him press them shut even though he wants to wipe them off and he can smell blood everywhere. Her claws are making scraggly craters in his skin, sunk in deep enough to keep him attached and writhing. All of his attention’s caught up in the jittering sharp pain of sliced skin, but somehow none of that measures up to the feeling he gets as he realizes that his body has started to respond to the rape. His nook’s pressing down steady and gripping in little wallows that make him hiccup in shame, there’s red dripping on her and when she bites at the soft flesh of his cheek it makes him squeal like a little pink oinkbeast. That doesn’t last very long in the least, she starts to drag her claws down his wrist and dig out furrows into his arm slowly.

Painfully slowly she’s moving her claws downwards and it flays out skin, fat, flesh and almost bone and his veins are ruined and he’s really trying to get away so she stops clawing the worse hand and starts to choke him again. She dips down to offer little bites, tearing out chunks from his cheeks and leaving holes in his face that won’t heal up nice but she isn’t nice at all. His heart aches from the stress and strain of so much abuse and he’s bleeding to death very slowly, so Redglare offers him a favor when she starts to chew at his lips. Her hand starts to rake down his chest and leave massive claw marks, each swipe draws up skin and he’s painted in cherries and dark rubies, she finds his struggles quite adorable, but they do nothing to cause her pause. The tealblood’s almost elegant, like water through an absolution trap but he does not find himself soothed.

It feels like an eternity to Karkat, millimeter by millimeter she inches up and presses against the end of his nook- he feels like he’s been folded up and soon to be fed to her alive from the way she’s tearing strips from his lips and up atop his jaw and cheeks, she drags her tongue into the hot, slippery blood gathering in the open wounds. Teal keeps slipping up and inside his nook in little waves, he’s squeezing down hard, and tight as he can, and he’s so small and precious. His mouth’s an upset line of scraped off skin and deep bite wounds, rips and he can’t feel much anymore, head’s popping.

When she pauses next it’s so she can press her hand into one shoulder and start to peel and prod into one of the long, deep and exposing scratches and it’s a soft tug and then a pull that starts to take off the strip down to his belly before she’s up and doing it again so slow to the next one, the skin doesn’t want to go off of muscle and she has to give sharp tugs that make clumps and stick strait little remnants of flesh cling of of the strip. Every time he stops growling and clenching and grinding his teeth together she takes pause, gives him a few laps that make his trembling less worse. It’s a solid, easy practice, yet he keeps fading, keeps needing more and he hardly notices her scraping and scrambling, even when she claws out the skin over his bulge and into the muscle over it; and then into the little thing and then she’s yanking out muscle in stiff steps and his intestines out like sloppy wet hair in the drain. Her hands are soaked in his bloodpusher fluid, mouth is raw, bright red and the smell of cherries and cheerfully bright metal is in her nose. He hardly registers the sudden gush of teal, or the way that the darkness seeps into his eyes and takes away the blood flow in tiny little increments.

**Author's Note:**

> Written mostly for a friend. So torn on the name.


End file.
